Broken Soul
by Pantz
Summary: They say she’s a broken soul. And it’s tragic, oh it’s so tragic for her to be so broken and not yet be seventeen


**Disclaimer: Everything from HP books belongs to JK Rowling**

**Broken Soul**

She was never one to mourn the lost.

She never wanted to dress in a black robe with a veil over her face to cover ungushed tears.

She never wanted to spend afternoons in a cemetery saying goodbye to a person who was a dear part of her life.

_But here she is. Again_

Here she is wishing she could smile and laugh and not remember.

Oh the pain of remembering. Who wants that tragedy? To remember and to cry and to live in the past, in a life that could no longer be hers. Who wants that tragedy in their life?

_But it's her tragedy. Her loss_

It's her tragedy to stay up nights remembering him. Not even him but just glimpses of their past that has been steadily fading away over the past few months. Just glances of time by the lake and stolen kisses while her brother wasn't watching. Only glances,

His smile. Her bubbly laughter. A quick snapshot of them swimming in the lake. Hardly memories to last a lifetime. Hardly memories that could fulfill a newly broken soul.

_But they would have to do._

A walk through Hogsmeade and a stroll through the potions dungeon. A quick kiss on his cheek before charms and a hug as they make their way down to the great hall. His fingers gently intertwined in her own. It seems too ordinary, _oh so ordinary_. How could anything involving **him**ever be ordinary?

_But it was. Plain and ordinary and so beautiful. Too beautiful to comprehend. Too beautiful to remember without breaking down and needing to cry. _

It was unreal how much she loved the kid. People will remark on it for years to come that no person has ever been loved as Harry Potter was loved by Ginny Weasley. No person has ever felt such steadfast loyalty and affection of a person who would follow them to the end of the world if it meant just another moment they would be together. A moment, oh how she wishes life could seems like more than a series of moments that at the time seem so meaningless and yet now, _now_ they seem to be her whole world.

He was her whole world. He was her smile and her glow. He was her strength and her resolve. He was what helped her survive through the loneliness of war even if then she still was only living off the memory of him. Only the memory because it is all she has, has ever had, and she'll have to live with the fact that each memory is fading deeper and deeper into her soul.

_His eyes seem less green now that she thinks about it._

And she's a broken soul, people say as they gather around his grave and stare at her hard face. A broken soul. Oh what a poor thing to already be broken and not yet be seventeen. What a poor child she is to already be so sad and wonder how it is that she could ever live without him, **him**

_How is it possible?_

Where did her strength go? People ask remembering her bravery as the war battled on. Where did her laugh go? People ask as they remember the youngest Weasley with the sparkle in her eyes and the smile on her lips. Where did her heart go?

_They were buried and I can't get them back,_ she would tell you if you ever had the courage to ask. Most people don't ask. It will suffice for them to wonder and contemplate amongst themselves because it is so much better then looking into her eyes and feeling pain that such a child, _such a lively girl_, is no more than a broken soul.

_And it's tragic, oh it's tragic._

Most people don't want to hear her soft, pitiful voice knowing it would bring tears to their eyes and hurt their heartsbecause reality is painful and people aren't wizards so that they have to endure reality. Where is the sense in that?

_Goodbye_, she'll whisper to him whenever she visits for as much as she shivers and flinches at the eeriness of the cemetery she has never once stayed away. _Goodbye Forever_, she'll say each time hoping to God she'll never have to return to that wretched place where his body will forever lay.

_She'll be back tomorrow. She'll be back and profess her love for him as she places flowers atop his grave. She'll be back and cry tears as she tells him she loves him, **always always**, that she just wishes she didn't have to mourn him. _

_Mourning is for the old and she is young, Oh is she young._ **Only seventeen after all.**

Many broken souls were made in that war they shall forever call the Great Blood War. Many hearts were ripped apart in that war but none is so tragic as her. None so tragic as the poor poor child, _once such a lively girl,_ who had the misfortune of loving their most beloved hero.

_She is so young_

_**End**_

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